Through the Looking Glass
by FawkesnFlame and Moony
Summary: . . . . And why does he keep seeing his parents in the mirror? If it's not the Mirror of Erised, than what is it? Discontinued as of 9.18.07
1. Prologue

Title: Through the Looking Glass  
  
Author: FawkesnFlame and FatnSassyQuattaHoss  
  
E-mail: BlKPercheron@aol.com or gallery_minstrel@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: currently G  
  
Category: Mystery  
  
Keywords: anything with the name Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, or Ron Weasley  
  
Summery: Harry's uncle is abusing him and Dumbledore and Severus Snape come to save him and he spends the rest of the summer at Hogwarts recuperating. But when Ron and Hermione come back, they're mad at him, and so is most of the school actually. Why are they mad at him? And what is this strange mirror that he receives for Christmas? Will Ron, Hermione and the rest of the school ever forgive him? And why does he keep seeing his parents in the mirror? If it's not the Mirror of Erised, than what is it?  
  
Spoilers: SS/PS  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, or anyone else associated with the Harry Potter books. Those belong to JKR.  
  
  
  
Prologue: Through the Looking Glass  
  
It's beautiful, really. An old antique looking glass that reminds you of old antique lives. One could stare into its depths forever and never tire of what they see. Could get lost by all that surrounds them? Or all that doesn't as the case may be. When one looks into that ancient old mirror, they become lost by what is before them. That is the point of this mirror, though. Of course that's the point. To change how one looks upon the world. Or how the world looks upon that individual.  
  
You probably think that I speak of The Mirror of Erised. You are wrong, very wrong. The powers of The Mirror of Erised pale in comparison to those of the mirror of which I speak. They are nothing but a wispy shadow, lingering pitifully before a dark storm cloud. This mirror has no name, none at all, for the simple reason that the individuals that experience it never return to claim it, some don't return at all. It deceives you, twists how you look at reality. Everything seen through this looking glass is a lie. Everything. It shows you your greatest desire, yes. It makes that desire a reality, a far more dangerous reality. It takes a person's vague wishes, and turns them into a truth.  
  
Patching up all of the unspecific, supposedly unimportant parts with its own twisted lies. Perhaps this is why even the greatest wizards fear it. No one even dares write about this beastly creation, for fear it will haunt them. And in turn all of the young promising witches and wizards fall into its trap. It was created just for this purpose: to trick people, as many as it could. Some think that it was once a twisted game invented by an old and forgotten Dark Lord many a century ago, purely for amusement. To see ones enemy living the life they always wanted, before it became spoiled like rotten milk. Many feared their fate once they were drawn into that beastly thing. Preferring death. As death is what they'd inadvertently get. The swirling depths confuse the eyes and bewitch the soul, stealing what is real.  
  
Confusing reality from fiction. For reality is just what we believe it to be, is it not? Fiction can become reality if one believes; believes deep enough inside themselves. For we can change what is reality and what is fiction. It is as a person walking alone at night, surrounded by the darkness, consuming them. A twig snapping, the wind rustling some leaves can easily become a mass murderer, ready to strike out and kill. Or a werewolf ready to attack. Common sense is what can save you from this horror, but common sense is also what limits you. The mirror uses a person's commonsense against them. They see what they want, and believe what they see. It is a horrible and twisted, but a very effective circle of defeat. The person, who was unlucky enough to be drawn into the mirror in the first place, will be consumed by their fiction. Mystified by what they want to be true, what they long for so terribly. And then the horrible concoction of a mirror will bend their false reality into something evil, something horrible and deceiving.  
  
One's perfect life will take a turn for the worst, you can be sure of that. Concocted into something one only sees in their nightmares, what haunts their dreams. Only the strong of will can defeat the mirror. Though it seems that no such person exists. Everyone wants to believe what they see, and by the time it goes horribly wrong, there is nothing they can do to stop it. They have been dragged too far in, and, by that time are drowning in their greed. There is no known person to have defeated this mirror, none at all. It is a very powerful weapon, hazardous and fatal. Death is almost assured. So far this mirror has defeated all that have met it, conquered them. Chewed them up and spit them out, literally speaking. It's all a mind game, and even the brightest witches and wizard have failed. For it most definitely does not play by the rules. Twisting the game until it's almost unrecognizable. Leaving one senseless, clueless and all alone. The mention of it strikes fear into the hearts of even the blackest, vilest, and foulest wizards and witches. It crashes the pillars that hold ones life together. It bends them and twists them until there is nothing left but a pile of rubble. It collapses one's senses, supports and loves. Ruins ones life in the worst way possible. By giving them exactly what they wished for. 


	2. Why Me?

Title: Through the Looking Glass  
  
Author: FawkesnFlame and FatnSassyQuattaHoss  
  
E-mail: BlKPercheron@aol.com or gallery_minstrel@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: currently G  
  
Category: Mystery  
  
Keywords: anything with the name Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, or Ron Weasley  
  
Summery: Harry's uncle is abusing him and Dumbledore and Severus Snape come to save him and he spends the rest of the summer at Hogwarts recuperating. But when Ron and Hermione come back, they're mad at him, and so is most of the school actually. Why are they mad at him? And what is this strange mirror that he receives for Christmas? Will Ron, Hermione and the rest of the school ever forgive him? And why does he keep seeing his parents in the mirror? If it's not the Mirror of Erised, than what is it?  
  
Spoilers: None as of yet!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, or anyone else associated with the Harry Potter books. Those belong to JKR.  
  
Ch. 1 Why Me?  
  
Harry Potter was no ordinary boy, not by his own choice of course. He had defeated the dark lord, Voldemort, at age one. He alone had survived the killing curse. He alone had defeated the dark lord. He alone was the wizarding world's only hope. And that was just the thing, he was alone. Completely alone. Utterly alone. Sure he had friends, who doesn't. Friends, pish, friends make you weak; friends make you depend upon others; friends were no help, but he desperately needed a friend. He just didn't know it. The weeks after the tournament had been the worst. No, his uncle's beatings had not made it bad. Or the pain, the soft hollow snaps as a limb broke. Or the chores, the illness, the starvation; no, those were good things, those things brought him back to reality. The chores, the pain; he was grateful. The more of them he got, the less he had to sleep. The less he had to see Cedric's face; hear his voice; watch as the older boy fell.  
  
And his parents; he'd learned much about them through his dreams, all things he didn't want to know. How they ended, what they were thinking, whether or not they cared. And of course these being nightmares, they never did. And the others, all the other people who had died because he had a target pinned to his back. No, not pinned, imprinted like a tattoo: like that horrid scar that caused him so much grief. What he wouldn't do for a family: people who cared. It was the one thing he wanted - wanted more than defeating the dark lord, wanted more than leaving the Dursleys, wanted more than his own life. Hell, he wanted anything besides his life.  
  
To be looked on as Potter, perfect Potter, Potter the golden boy, Potter who was going to save them all. The same Potter who wished he was dead right this very instant. Right this very instant though; he knew he wouldn't be thinking anything for a while. He could feel the cracked ribs, the blood leaking over his scalp, sticky and warm, entwining itself in his black strands. The many cuts and bruises, some bandaged with ripped pieces of bed sheet or some with old clothing. He was sure his legs would hurt, if he could feel them, but his uncle had been incredibly pissed off when Harry couldn't finish his chores. He had decided that if Harry was useless for work he'd at least make sure that his punching bag didn't get away. His right arm was rapped in an old pillowcase, and tied up in a makeshift sling about his bruised neck, the imprints of fingers painfully clear.  
  
He gave a hollow laugh as he looked at the clock, and managed to gasp out, "Happy birthday to me," before falling into the blackness that had become his life.  
  
@!!!@!!!@!!!@!!!@!!!@!!!@!!!@!!!@!!!@!!!@!!!@!!!@!!!@!!!@!!!@!!!@!!!@!!!  
  
Harry woke up what he could only assume was days later. It might've been weeks, or only hours, who knew? He opened his eyes; everything was blurry, it had been for weeks now. His glasses had long since disappeared. Probably along with his school things in the trash. It was too quiet, much too quiet. If it were morning, Dudley would be whining for his mother to cook him bacon. If it were any other time, he'd either be demanding some other food, or watching TV.  
  
There was no noise at all, and it was unnerving him. Harry almost went into cardiac arrest when he heard something flapping about the window. He looked up and saw the form of a snowy owl. His eyes closed and he took deep breaths, or as deep as he could, considering he had a chest full of broken ribs. He looked up. And, surprisingly, she was still there, looking at him worriedly, it reminded him distinctly of Mrs. Weasley. He could make her out through a reddish haze, and was sure she must be real.  
  
"Go get help Hedwig," he managed to pant out, before almost throwing himself down on a pillow. She hooted at him and took off, hopefully to get help, hopefully. 


	3. Where did I go Wrong?

This story is by FawkesnFalme and FatnSassyQuattaHoss.  
  
Summery: Harry's uncle is abusing him and Dumbledore and Severus Snape come to save him and he spends the rest of the summer at Hogwarts recuperating. But when Ron and Hermione come back, they're mad at him, and so is most of the school actually. Why are they mad at him? And what is this strange mirror that he receives for Christmas? Will Ron, Hermione and the rest of the school ever forgive him? And why does he keep seeing his parents in the mirror? If it's not the Mirror of Erised, than what is it?  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, or anyone else associated with the Harry Potter books. Those belong to JKR.  
  
  
  
Ch. 2 Where did I go Wrong?  
  
TURN AROUND AND PICK UP THE PIECES!  
  
I, like a rock, sink, sinking 'til I hit the bottom  
  
Water is much deeper than I thought  
  
Nothing to swim with, kickin' but I keep sinking  
  
A lesson that no one could have ever taught  
  
And I can almost breathe the air, right beyond my finger tips  
  
I'll turn around and pick up the pieces  
  
One more push and I'll be there, back where I belong  
  
I'll turn around and pick up the pieces  
  
I see the picture, blurry but now it's in focus  
  
(A fairy tale I purchased on my own)  
  
I finally woke up, everything is better  
  
(A chance for me to open up and grow)  
  
And I can almost breathe the air, right beyond my finger tips  
  
I'll turn around and pick up the pieces  
  
One more push and I'll be there, back where I belong  
  
I'll turn around and pick up the pieces  
  
TURN AROUND AND PICK UP THE PIECES!  
  
TURN AROUND AND PICK UP THE PIECES!  
  
TURN AROUND AND PICK UP THE PIECES!  
  
Suffocating, sinking further almost every day.  
  
  
  
Dumbledore's office was unusually busy for two in the morning. Dumbledore himself was sitting at his desk, head on hands, massaging his temples slowly. His white beard folded over onto the desk in front of him, almost like a white fluffy pillow. His blue robes were wrinkled and worn; he'd obviously been hurriedly awoken. He seemed older than ever, weary even. His blue eyes had stopped twinkling; they seemed to be shimmering sadly, almost glassy. To all outward appearances, he seemed to be ignoring all of the people in the room with him.  
  
Some were looking frightened, others were jabbering away in worried tones to deaf ears. But he wasn't ignoring them; Merlin knew that he wanted to. Wanted to ignore them, wanted to ignore Voldemort, and the many bodies they had found. After all, everyone knows that if you believe something hard enough it becomes true. But he wouldn't - no, he couldn't - ignore it; everything was just too important to ignore. He couldn't ignore the worried faces in front of him; he couldn't ignore the lifeless eyes that haunted his nightmares and his reality. He couldn't ignore the evil man who had once been one of his students; he had been brilliant and he still is brilliant, and that was the problem.  
  
Dumbledore heaved a sigh, his every breath shook. Every time he took a breath he felt as if it were drowning him, instead of helping him to live. Every breath was heavy, and cold, dark, surely he was slowly suffocating. He was so deep in thought that he didn't even notice that almost everyone had left his office. Actually everyone had, but a slight knocking on the door signaled that someone else wanted to speak with him.  
  
"Come in," was all he could manage as the black clad body of Severus Snape entered.  
  
"Albus, are you all right?" He seemed truly concerned.  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
Snape cocked his eyebrow at him and continued, "Of course you're not fine. Why did I even ask, stupid question really, no one's really 'fine' any more."  
  
Dumbledore smiled slightly at him, trust Severus to understand, he wasn't as cold and emotionless as everyone thought. And of course he was right too; damned if he wasn't always right. No one was fine anymore. Despite all of the many attacks, and the Muggle killings, Fudge still denied the Dark Lord's return. The dark mark lit up the sky every night like the American Fourth of July. It was like a new, bright, horribly frightening constellation. And that blundering idiot Fudge was always there, covering up the killings before The Daily Prophet could stick their noses in it. They were there after every attack, cleaning up the mess, obliviating everyone insight, causing more confusion than helping. Of course, causing the most confusion was Fudge.  
  
Of all the victims that had been killed, the dead were the luckiest. The living that had gotten in the way had suffered great memory loss. Some didn't know who they were, some didn't know the date and others were desperately searching for missing family members, who, according to them, were home one minute and gone the next. Fudge had done a good job of cleaning up the mess, disposing of the bodies, returning the homes back to their original state, but the list of missing people was steadily growing longer. Every day there was a list of the missing in the Prophet. People who had seemingly disappeared without a trace.  
  
"Is there any news, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, still rubbing his temples.  
  
"As of now, sir, there hasn't been any news. But it is starting to scare me a bit. There hasn't been an attack since last Friday. The Dark Lord doesn't usually wait this long."  
  
And he had a point, he could vividly remember most of the attacks he'd participated in: Walls, homes blown to bits, everything soaked in blood, the smell of death everywhere; and no survivors. None at all.  
  
"If this were the old times, I would've said, 'No news is good news', but in these hard times, that isn't the case," Dumbledore said wearily.  
  
And in fact any night that wasn't filled with bloodshed was a good night. He got up from behind his desk; bones creaking from old age, hands clasped behind his back, and slowly walked over to the window. Looking out over the forbidden forest, he could faintly see a white speck that promised to be an owl. He opened the window, walked back to his desk and sat down. Severus looked at him strangely. The Headmaster did not usually stand up and stare out into the Forbidden Forest in the middle of a Death Eater report. Maybe the old man was more senile than people had thought. He cleared his throat to get his point across.  
  
"Just needed a bit of air," Dumbledore announced, correctly interpreting the cough.  
  
Snape just cocked his eyebrow. Suddenly, there was a sound of wings flapping overhead and he was abruptly cuffed over the head with a long, bright white wing.  
  
"What the. . . .?!" Snape muttered, looking up to see a snowy owl flying overhead. "Great. Even Potter's owl hates me."  
  
Dumbledore held in his laughter. "Hedwig?" he muttered.  
  
The owl let out a small hoot to tell him that he was correct in his assumption.  
  
"What are you doing here, Hedwig? Shouldn't you be home with Harry?"  
  
When the Headmaster mentioned Harry's name, Hedwig let out an urgent hoot. She began screeching and making a big fuss, scattering a large pile of important documents all over the floor of the already messy office. Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, suddenly flew over the Hedwig and placed his beak on her head. A small tear slid down his cheek and landed on the owl's beak, gently rolling off. The two men in the room looked at one another. They both knew that phoenix tears could be used for stress relief, but Fawkes didn't usually give them willingly, to fellow animal or human alike.  
  
Hedwig interrupted their musings by screeching loudly and grabbing the cuff of Snape's robes, tugging harshly much like a Rottweiler would on his favorite toy. Dumbledore's eyes widened behind his half moon spectacles as Hedwig continued to claw, pull and otherwise abuse the Potions master. He looked at the younger man, worry evident in his eyes.  
  
How long has it been since we received a report from Arabella?  
  
Snape sucked in a breath of air. The two of them seemed to reach the same conclusion as they made a beeline for the door, knocking Fawkes' perch over in the process. The phoenix didn't seem to much mind as he, and a very relieved looking Hedwig, fluttered soundlessly after the two men as they rushed towards the Forbidden Forest, out past the anti apparition spells and disappeared with a slight pop.  
  
))()()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())() ()(())()()(())()()(())()()(())()()((  
  
Staring at the white above  
  
can't tell if I'm alive or am I dead?  
  
or is it in my head?  
  
(Where'd I go wrong?)  
  
Staring at the white above  
  
one day I closed my eyes then here I am  
  
a cold, unhappy man  
  
I've come to realize the life I have I hate, the pulse I need is slowly fading  
  
until I've lost it all  
  
I've been waiting for an inspiration  
  
for a chance I never got to take  
  
before it's much too late  
  
(Where'd I go wrong?)  
  
Where's the boy that used to run?  
  
Could it be he's up and gone away?  
  
He seems so far away  
  
And all the things I could have done  
  
Could it be they've up and gone away?  
  
They seem so far away  
  
Feels as if the boy in me has left and been replaced  
  
with a cheap and bitter imposter of myself  
  
I must find the one that used to be  
  
approach him slow, don't be afraid to say; Can he come out and play?  
  
(Where'd I go wrong?)  
  
Where's the boy that used to run?  
  
Could it be that he is up and gone away?  
  
He seems so far away  
  
And all the things I could have done  
  
Could it be they've up and gone away?  
  
They seem so far away  
  
Staring at the sky above  
  
I've found a chance I'm finally going to take  
  
I've learned from my mistakes  
  
(Where'd I go wrong?)  
  
Where's the boy that used to run?  
  
Could it be he is up and gone away? He seems so far away  
  
where'd I go wrong?  
  
And all the things I could have done  
  
could it be they've up and gone away?  
  
They seem so far away  
  
Where'd I go wrong?  
  
  
  
Dumbledore and Snape arrived at the end of Privet Drive with a muffled crack that rang out through the silent street. Neither of them seemed particularly worried about whether or not a Muggle saw them. Though it was highly unlikely as most normal people were asleep at this hour. Or that's what most people liked to think. The two men sprinted as fast as they could towards number four. The house looked like any control freaks house. Neat and orderly, grass cut, hedges trimmed, flowerbeds pruned. The windows were all spotless and glimmered in the moonlight. There was a welcome sign on the door, accented by a "No Solicitors" plaque right below.  
  
The door was a freshly painted brown, and Snape was sure that if he were going to open it the Muggle way that it wouldn't give off the tiniest of squeaks. Unfortunately being a wizard he couldn't test that theory, and as they approached it burst magically open with a loud snap. The sound of the door exploding into number four echoed through the street, and the Dursley's lights weren't the only ones that had been turned on. They had alerted almost the entire street.  
  
Severus, slightly ahead of the older man, shoved himself through the door first, only to be met with the vivid purple rhinoceros that was Vernon Dursley. The stoplight faced man looked at him in shock just as his wife and son came padding down the stairs behind him.  
  
Thundering more like thought, Snape thought with a sneer as he looked at Dudley.  
  
Petunia gasped at the man before her, and Snape dimly realized that he was still wearing his Death Eater robes.  
  
Hmm, I'd better lose them at the risk of giving Potter a heart attack. If he was still alive.  
  
He grimaced at his own dire reflection. The four people stared at each other for a few moments, Vernon's face slowly getting darker as Dumbledore stumbled in over the splintered door. Behind him came Fawkes and Hedwig, Fawkes settled on his owner's shoulder, and strangely enough Hedwig on his. Vernon seemed to regain his composure, or at least Severus assumed the bright reddening counted as composure, or maybe the man was going into cardiac arrest, or having a blood clot or something along those lines. The younger man sincerely hoped it was something fatal. The fatter man let out an angry grunt, maybe he fancies he's rutting, Snape couldn't help that last notion from popping into his head. And he did indeed let out a bellow like an angry stag; only the endless noise seemed to form words that sounded something like "What are you freaks doing in my home!!!"  
  
Snape's lip curled unwittingly in detest at the man in front of him. How dare he! If anyone was a freak . . . .  
  
Dumbledore's calm, clear, yet strangely chilling voice sliced through the tension, "We've come to check on Harry."  
  
The simple comment seemed to have a very bad affect on the Dursleys. Petunia's eyes widened behind her husband's back, and she started to stutter incoherently, The lump of lard that was their son ran screaming out of the room, hands flailing in the air; and Dursley, if it were at all possible, turned an even darker shade of red.  
  
"He's gone, ran away the little ingrate did," was Vernon's simple comment.  
  
But he was obviously lying; it was painfully obvious by the smells of pain and blood in the house. Snape's face contorted into a sneer, patented for terrifying people. Dursley and the prune that was his wife backed away in fear.  
  
"Bull shit," was all Snape said, growled really, but yet it sent them cowering. He continued, "Are you going to tell me where Potter is, or must I persuade you?" He drew his wand out of his pocket smiling evilly, this would be fun.  
  
"Severus," warned Dumbledore cautiously, then his tone changed sharply. "If anyone is going to do the persuading it will be me."  
  
The potions master looked at the Headmaster in complete and utter shock, his lip twitched and his eyes twinkled - the younger man could barely hold in a smirk.  
  
"H-h-he's u-u-ups-s-s-st-stairs. I-in D-D-Dudley's ex-extra r-room," gibbered Petunia.  
  
Snape narrowed his eyes at Potter's relatives, and scowled, "If you'd like to live through this night he'd better be more than just upstairs, because if he isn't alive and well I will have his godfather on you after having some fun myself."  
  
Petunia's eyes widened in horror, and she fainted, sprawled out behind her husband on the perfectly white carpet.  
  
"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN ME IN MY OWN HOME!"  
  
Harry's uncle, who by now was a brilliant magenta color, made a move for Snape, who in turn brandished his wand and yawned, "STUPEFY!" lazily. He smirked at the unconscious Vernon Dursley, his mouth half open, brows still furrowed in anger, piggy eyes shocked, maybe he could sell him as a modern sculpture of what society was coming to. But Dumbledore tugging on his robes soon brought him out of his reverie. The Headmaster reminded the older man of their original mission, to check on Harry.  
  
Oh yeah, Potter; he'd almost forgotten, he had been having so much fun with his relatives. Muggle baiting always gave him a good laugh. His face turned serious and he couldn't believe his own thoughts from just a second before. Potter was possibly in mortal danger and his only reaction was oh yeah - he really needed an attitude adjustment, not that he'd ever admit that to anyone. The two professors made their way up the staircase, following swiftly behind Hedwig who was leading the way to the right room. The rather large owl attempted to land on the doorknob, but slid right off. She hovered in mid air shrieking and clawing at the handle, trying to grind the many locks and chains into dust between her beak. Snape grabbed the frantic owl as Dumbledore attempted to open the door. He wasn't sure he wanted to find Harry; he wanted to see what was behind door number one. He could smell the sickly sweet tang of blood. It permeated through the walls, through the very wood work of the door.  
  
One didn't have to be a werewolf to recognize the smell of blood; it was a very unique odor. Its aroma was that of energy being lost, of life slowly fading. He could sense fear, pain, regret, apprehension, all felt by a fifteen-year-old boy at one point. He cam back to his senses at a whispered, "Alohomora" and the clicks of the many locks opening. He dropped the owl in shock at the sight in front of him. Hedwig let out an indignant squawk from the floor and hopped over to the bed, where there rested a fifteen-year-old boy. Not just any fifteen-year-old boy, but Harry Potter. A very beaten, abused and malnourished looking Harry Potter, his waxy skin stretched over all too evident cheek bones, the skin Severus could see was covered in all different shades of purple bruises; and what wasn't bruised was, covered in dry blood, cuts and gashes. Some of his limbs stuck out at odd angles. There were gruesome wounds from the bones shredding through the skin, bloody and inflamed, no doubt starting to become infected.  
  
Harry was lying on stained red sheets, a fresh puddle of blood surrounding him. The boys glasses were nowhere in sight, so there was nothing hiding the dark purple rings around his eyes. His battered face looked dismal, his lips locked in a grim frown. He was covered in makeshift bandages that probably did more harm than they helped considering they were grimy with dirt and filth. Snape swallowed the bile that was rising in his throat, and walked over to the boy, gently lifting him off the bed that had become a small sea of blood and vomit. He supported Harry's head, realizing with disgust that his hand was now sticky and covered in crimson liquid life. How could someone do this to an innocent boy? How could someone do something so repulsive and nauseating? What had Harry ever done to them, what had the poor boy ever done to anyone?  
  
He looked at Dumbledore for guidance, not sure now what to do with the fairly light body in his arms, starved and beaten, but luckily enough still alive. He could barely make out the boy's chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. Dumbledore's voice seemed earth shattering in that moment of horror.  
  
"We must get him to Arabella's. She's connected to the Floo network."  
  
The usually calm commanding voice of the Headmaster was laced with worry, regret, and sorrow. A tear made it's way down his ancient face. Snape nodded, yes that was definitely the safest and fastest, although not his favorite way to return to Hogwarts. 


	4. From the desk of FawkesnFlame and FatnSa...

From the desk of FawkesnFlame and FatnSassyQuattaHoss  
  
*looking around* Is anyone still reading this story? *crickets chirp* Guess not. Well, this fic is going to be stalled until we get at least 10 or so more reviews. Can be more or less, we aren't that picky. If there are no more new reviews by 8/14/2002, this fic will be stalled for an unknown amount of time. It will be resumed once we get the requested amount of reviews. Just so's you know, our muses eat reviews. And when people don't review, they get really nasty. You try living with mad and disgruntled muses. Not that pleasent, I'll tell you. Now back to business. *threatenes readers with the fall of FanFiction.Net* Hey, we don't get the reviews that we want, you won't get the fics that you want. No reviews, no fics. We'll just keep the fics for ourselves *evil grin* and imprison the authors and make them write and write . . . and write. . . and write . . . and write. Mwahahahaha! *cough* *gag* *cough* Sorry. Um, so please review. We need all the support that we can get. Thankies!  
  
Sincerely, FawkesnFlame and FatnSassyQuattaHoss  
  
Sirius: (one of FawkesnFlame's muses) You do know that that fall of FF.NET was an empty threat, right? Just thought I'd make sure.  
  
Harry: (one of FatnSassyQuattaHoss' muses) Yeah, they can get a little over enthusiastic over reviews.  
  
Trent: (other muse of FatnSassyQuattaHoss) T- t- that w - w - asn't a j - j - joke. *cowers* Please don't hurt me!  
  
_______________________________________________________________________ _______________________________________________________________________  
  
If any of ya'll want to talk to us, you can IM us at JaneyLane5 (FatnSassyQuattaHoss') or FanFiction Natzi (FawkesnFlame's). *glares at readers* You had better review this story or we are going to go through with our threat. Mwahahahaha! *cough* *gag* *cough* Geez, someone please remind me that I shouldn't be doing that evil laughter.  
  
Sirius: *hands cough drop to FawkesnFlame* Here. Try this.  
  
FawkesnFlame: *smacks Sirius* Why'd you do that?! You messed up my act. How dare you! You will now meet the wrath of Fluffy! *calling* FLUFFY!  
  
Sirius: *runs*  
  
Much better. *muffled screams can be heard from Sirius as he runs from Fluffy* We hope to see your reviews soon, or you'll be saying good-bye to your beloved FF.NET. Mwahahahaha! *coughing is gradually faded away due to good sound management*  
  
I had better see some reviews by 8/14/2002 or say good-bye! 


	5. Ch 3 Fear of Everything

This story is by FawkesnFalme and FatnSassyQuattaHoss.  
  
Summery: Harry's uncle is abusing him and Dumbledore and Severus Snape come to save him and he spends the rest of the summer at Hogwarts recuperating. But when Ron and Hermione come back, they're mad at him, and so is most of the school actually. Why are they mad at him? And what is this strange mirror that he receives for Christmas? Will Ron, Hermione and the rest of the school ever forgive him? And why does he keep seeing his parents in the mirror? If it's not the Mirror of Erised, than what is it?  
  
Disclaimer: We told you already . . . . _We don't own them!_ How can we get it through your thick skulls!  
  
Ch. 3 Fear of Everything  
  
A/N: Sorry this took so long people. I wasn't really planning on carrying out that threat, but life is hectic, first we have to move, then I start a new school, then new biology teacher ends up being a bitch and assigns five projects at once. After that author lady here gets grounded off the 'Puter for being suspended off the bus. And after that I have a complete mental burn out thanks to geometry. ::pokes geometry with a stick:: E-vil!!! Anyway... On with the story... and all ... ::crickets chirp:: Ok... no one's here.. (FawkesnFlame: Hey! What am I doing here then? I thought...) Oh well... I'll write to amuse myself then. (FF: *glares but reads story in spite of author's accusations*)  
  
  
  
From the top to the bottom  
  
Bottom to top I stop  
  
At the core I've forgotten  
  
In the middle of my thoughts  
  
Taken far from my safety  
  
The picture is there  
  
The memory won't escape me  
  
But why should I care  
  
  
  
There's a place so dark you can't see the end  
  
Skies cock back  
  
And a shock which can't defend  
  
The rain that sends dripping  
  
And acidic question  
  
Forcefully  
  
The power of suggestion  
  
Then with the eyes tightly shut  
  
Looking through the rust and rot and dust  
  
A spot of light floods the floor  
  
And pours over the rusted world of pretend  
  
And the eyes ease open and it's dark again  
  
  
  
In the memory you'll find me  
  
Eyes burning up  
  
The darkness holding me tightly  
  
Until the sun rises up  
  
  
  
Moving all around Screaming of the ups and downs  
  
Pollution manifested in perpetual sound  
  
The wheels go round  
  
And the sunset creeps past the street lamps, chain link and concrete  
  
A little piece of paper with a picture drawn  
  
Floats on down the street  
  
Till the wind in gone  
  
The memory is now like the picture was then  
  
When the papers crumpled up it can't be perfect again  
  
  
  
Now you got me caught in the act  
  
You bring the thought back  
  
I'm telling you that  
  
I see it right through you  
  
  
  
The two men stumbled through the fireplace in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. This was not turning out to be a good night. At seeing the abused and battered Harry, Arabella had sucked in a breath of air, eyes wide. She silently led them to the parlor, and fell sobbing onto the sofa, muttering that it was all her fault, that she should've seen it coming. Severus was worried about her - they had left her on her couch crying, they couldn't waste any time. But when Sirius found out, there was going to be hell to pay, he only hoped Remus had bought the ex-convict a choke chain and muzzle. He shook his head. How were they going to tell the boy's godfather without having to worry about him returning to Azkaban for murder. When Black got angry, well, to say that it wasn't fun was the understatement of the year. The first place he'd go would be the Dursleys; Severus didn't even want to think about that. Not now, not with a dying fifteen year old in his arms.  
  
And Arabella. Sirius would blame her for not looking out for Harry, although he was innocent of betraying Lily and James, Albus always seemed to conveniently forget that he was going to kill Pettigrew; that he would have had Peter not gotten the better of him. Madame Pomfrey's voice snapped him out of his reverie.  
  
"Severus? What are you doing in here this time of night. What did you do to injure yourself this time. You were always an accident prone-"  
  
She stopped mid sentence, staring at the young boy in her former patients arms. Her eyes widened in shock.  
  
"What?" she started, but Severus cut her off.  
  
"It was his relatives," he said looking down sadly at the boy. He blinked in disbelief, frustration, hate. He hated Potter's relatives for doing this to him. An innocent boy. If it was the last thing he did.. . . . .  
  
He blinked again bringing himself back to reality. This was Harry Potter, James' son, the boy who thought himself above the rules. But no one deserved this. . . . well . . . excepting Voldemort. Severus blinked again.  
  
Since when have I started caring about people. This boy has been messing with my head since he first arrived here.  
  
  
  
Falling, I'm falling  
  
Have you ever walked through a room  
  
But it was more like the room passed around you  
  
Like there was a leash around your neck that pulled  
  
You through  
  
Have you ever been at some place  
  
Recognizing everybody's face  
  
Until you realized that there was no one there that you knew  
  
Well I know  
  
Some days my soul's confined and out of mind  
  
Sleep forever  
  
Some days I'm so outshined and out of time  
  
Have you ever  
  
Falling, I'm falling  
  
Have you ever buried your face in your hands  
  
Cause no one around you understands  
  
Or has the slightest idea of what it is that makes you be  
  
Have you ever felt like there was more  
  
Like someone else was keeping score  
  
And what could make you whole was simply out of reach  
  
Well, I know  
  
Someday I'll try again and not pretend  
  
This time forever  
  
Someday I'll get this straight, but not today  
  
Have you ever  
  
Falling, I'm Falling  
  
Some days my soul's confined and out of mind  
  
Sleep forever  
  
Some days my darkest friend is me again Some day I'll try again and not pretend  
  
This time forever  
  
Some day I'll get it straight but not today  
  
Have you ever  
  
When the truth walks away  
  
Everybody stays  
  
Cause the truth about the world is that crime does pay  
  
So if you walk away, who is gonna stay  
  
Cause I'd like to think the world is a better place  
  
When the truth walks away, Everybody stays  
  
Cause the truth about the world is that crime does pay  
  
So if you walk away  
  
Who is gonna stay  
  
Cause I'd like to make the world a better place  
  
When the truth walks away  
  
Everybody stays  
  
Cause the truth about the world is that crime does pay  
  
So if you walk away  
  
Who is gonna stay  
  
Cause I'd like to think the world is a better place  
  
I'd like to leave the world as a better place  
  
I'd like to think the world....  
  
  
  
By morning everyone in the castle knew about Harry: all of the professors, the members of the order. Severus sighed, this was supposed to be a secret for now. Generally the entire population of the world didn't know secrets. Well... come to think of it, they usually did. That's just how things work he supposed... especially if you told a secret to Filius Flitwick. That man just could not keep his mouth closed -- for his own good or for the sake of others. It was not going to be a good day. They'd all tried to crowd into the hospital wing...well the professors at least, and some of the Order, trying to see if they could help. Severus just sat in the corner in amusement, none of them had any idea of what to do to help the boy. Neither did he if it came to that, but at least he wasn't getting in the way.  
  
He smirked as Poppy finally got fed up and ordered everyone out, along with a few other orders. Minerva and Filius were to look up more complicated healing spells that could be found in a book in the restricted section. Albus was, no doubt going off to owl that bumbling werewolf and his flea covered mut. Hey, just because he was feeling some sort of compassion for Harry didn't mean he had to take to the boys whole posse. And he was to go make some healing potions. What had Poppy asked for again? Oh shit! He'd forgotten... Potter's back, he'd need some heavy duty, seriously painful potions if the boy was ever going to walk again. Forget walk he thought, they'd be lucky if the boy lived in this condition.  
  
The dungeons were a comfort as he arrived there. . . no people, no pestering, and no Potter. He didn't think he'd last much longer if he was still up there. All the blood, and the bruises, and bones. He shuddered, the only thing he'd ever seen that had been that gruesome was when he was a Death Eater. Even then Voldemort usually killed his victims before it reached that level of insanity. Screw a choke chain, unless Remus wanted his little flea bag buddy kissed he'd have to buy him a cage and padlock so he wouldn't go murder the Dursley's. Not, he thought once again, that it would be such an unpleasant thing . . . . he'd be rid of Black and those mentally unstable Muggles. But Potter would need his godfather if. . . no when . . . when he recovered.  
  
The Potions Master shuddered. He was being a little too bleak, even for him. He realized quite suddenly that he was standing in front of his chambers. And since the portrait seemed to be looking at him uneasily he assumed that he'd been standing there for a while.  
  
The portrait, a young women in front of a piano spoke up, "I knew you wanted a girl friend, but I never thought you'd get this desperate. Not that I'm not pleased, Sevvie."  
  
Severus rolled his eyes and muttered something that would have offended the portrait greatly, if she had heard.  
  
"If you'll please let me into my chambers, I've got urgent business to attend to." She scowled at him but opened up, and banged shut a little harshly for his liking. He thumped on the back of the portrait and heard an answering "Harrummph." He smirked, now, to get started on those potions for Potter. Potions for Potter, he shook his head, he was definitely losing it. No... It had already been gone for a while.  
  
  
  
Crawling in my skin  
  
These wounds they will not heal  
  
Fear is how I fall  
  
Confusing what is real  
  
  
  
There's something inside me that pulls beneath the surface  
  
Consuming  
  
Confusing  
  
This lack of self control I fear is never ending  
  
Controlling  
  
I can't seem  
  
To find myself again  
  
My walls are closing in  
  
(Without a sense of confidence I'm convinced that there's just too much pressure to take)  
  
I've felt this way before  
  
So insecure  
  
  
  
Discomfort endlessly has pulled itself upon me  
  
Distracting  
  
Reacting  
  
Against my will I stand beside my own reflection  
  
It's haunting how I can't seem...  
  
  
  
Poppy Pomfrey couldn't believe her eyes when she saw the boy that was brought into her. He didn't resemble the Harry Potter she'd known at all, in fact he didn't resemble any living person she'd ever seen. He more resembled what she'd had to deal with when she'd worked in the Ministry's hospital department. No, those were memories that she didn't want to bring back right now. She had to concentrate on keeping the boy in front of her alive. With all of those pesky professors gone she could finally work. She gently began removing his clothes, wincing as it uncovered more wounds. Some were definitely infected, others looked fresher, and had began bleeding as soon as the cloth was peeled off of the boy's body. The first things she did was perform a cleaning spell -- she couldn't tell if the boy was just really filthy, or if his wounds were infected that badly, or both. She winced and looked away as soon as the boy was clean, it was much worse then she'd thought. His whole body was covered in cuts and bruises. Bones sticking out in many places. Thankfully most of them could be healed relatively quickly by magic. Others would need a little longer, and would have to heal the Muggle way.  
  
She did a mental tally of all the potions she'd need. Some healing potions for sure, some disinfecting potions so his wounds wouldn't be so badly swollen, and to top it all off this boy was ill. She'd need some fever reducing potions, some Pepper up potion at least, and some Muggle medications wouldn't hurt, like penicillin. She quickly felt around Harry's head and cringed when she felt the fresh seepage of blood. First thing was first, she had to heal his concussions so the Gryffindor wouldn't wake up mentally less capable, putting it nicely. And his spine, how could someone do that to a poor boy! Thankfully Severus kept stores of basic, and not so basic, and not quite legal healing potions.  
  
As soon as he awoke, Harry would need to take the potion to heal his spine before it was too late. He'd be lucky to walk again, and there were no doubt going to be some permanent side affects -- physically, but mostly mentally. How could someone do this to a child who had been through so much already? She put her mind off of that, she needed to concentrate on healing the battered boy in front of her. 


End file.
